There's Something About Youichi
by Verna-S
Summary: Mamori, Sena and Musashi all battle for a certain quarterback's affections. Who will win? Poor Hiruma just wants to play football. Surprise ending. Complete... I think?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** There's Something About Youichi

**Disclaimer:** ES21 not mine! Rivers of sadness etc. This is also a humour and parody fic so there is mild OOCness on the part of everyone but the team captain (hopefully).

**Summary:** Mamori, Sena and Musashi all battle for a certain quarterback's affections. Poor Hiruma just wants to play football.

* * *

Hiruma sat alone in the clubhouse, tapping away at his laptop. He'd gone from a graphic user interface to a command line interface at the start of the year in order to strengthen his throwing arm. The old man had warned him about getting carpal tunnel, but the Devil didn't get pathetic nerd diseases like that. Although come to think of it, his left wrist _did_ hurt a bit. He paused briefly, rubbing the tendons with his thumb and rotating it a little. Maybe it would be good to start typing cross-handed for the next half hour or so. 

The quarterback tabbed between articles he'd downloaded from the online magazine archive that he--or rather, the principal's credit card--had subscribed to earlier that year. Whether the Devil Bats realised it or not, a lot of their wins rode on the reports posted in a number of crappy sports issues, along with score boxes listed in newspapers. Numbers, that was half the game right there--numbers. You needed a strong will, and raw ability, and technique, sure, but it was all useless without a good grasp of the strategies people relied on predictably, over and over. Like playing chess with human bodies. "Kekekekeke." He laughed over the image.

Hiruma tabbed over to the next .pdf, letting his eyes scan over the list of statistics before copying them over to the spreadsheet he'd listed as poseidon.xls and inputting the proper equations into the cells where required. He'd considered teaching the fucking manager how to do this but it was still early in the season and he wasn't quite sure about the girl yet. She needed to find out about the Eyeshield thing eventually. When she did they would see where her true loyalties were, and how dedicated she'd actually become to the game. Besides, this was an important duty. Better to get it done himself.

The demon noted some movement out of the corner of his eye. The door was opening. He reached for his gun--but it was just the pipsqueak. Oh well, now that he was holding it-- he fired a round into the air. "Fucking chibi, hit the showers and go home now. I want you to get eight hours of sleep exactly. Miss out on even ten minutes and it'll be double laps in the morning." Come to think of it, the boy should have gone home hours ago. Was he doing extra training or what? Well, it was about time the kid started getting serious. Hiruma fired a few more rounds into the air for good measure. But the boy didn't mutter apologies or make small rodent noises and run away like he usually did. Instead he walked right up next to him and tried to peer over his shoulder.

"Hiruma-san, I came tonight because I wanted to see if _you'd_ gone home." Hiruma felt a pair of hands fall on his shoulders. Was the kid... trying to give him a backrub? "You work so hard... I'm worried about you... we all are..."

"The fuck?!" Hiruma spluttered. He slammed his laptop shut, wrenched out of the kid's grip, and pointed an uzi in his face. "The hell's your fucking problem?"

"It's your parents, isn't it? Nee-san told me... after the game your father called and she got the message by accident... you don't have a home, do you, Hiruma-san? Uhm... I was wondering... it's taken a lot of courage for me to say this, but... would you like to come home with me? Or..." The boy took a tentative step forward, "...I could stay here... tonight..."

Hiruma simply stared. The fucking pipsqueak was out of his mind. Or this was a nightmare. A really disturbing dream brought on by one too many body-building shakes and bowls of expired instant ramen that he'd been living off of for the past six weeks. And they said that gaining muscle was easy.

Sena took _another _step forward, batting his eyelids coquettishly. His small frame was shivering with emotion. It would be rather sweet, if Hiruma was, well, into the tiny and submissive type. "You know, you can run..." His voice trembled with emotion here, "...but I'll _catch_ you."

The quarterback weighed the odds concerning how this could end. He needed the running back to get touchdowns and play an offensive game. Eyeshield 21 was essential to the bulk of the plays he had worked out pretty much indefinitely all the way up to the Christmas Bowl. But he didn't need the kid... _that_ way. And he was pretty sure he hadn't done anything to deserve this!

Meanwhile, Sena was in the process of removing his clothing. "You don't even need to say anything. I know that isn't your way. Just... go ahead!" The kid laid back on the roulette table with his pants off and the top buttons of his shirt undone. "I know you want to dominate me, I've seen it in your eyes, and I know you have a heart, deep down, so go ahead, I'm already ready for you!"

Hiruma tilted his head, absolutely out of words. He licked his lips. He considered what to do. He could fire his gun and tell the kid to get out of here. But then the boy would be sulking and brokenhearted and maybe he'd stop scoring downs for him just out of spite. Or even worse, go and cry to the fucking manager... Hiruma groaned. Sure, he'd smoked a bit of pole in his time, but scrawny first-years weren't exactly his _type..._


	2. Chapter 2

Hiruma was in the weight room of the school gym doing some reps on the chest press. Sets of twelve and twenty-five, twenty-five and twelve, the date of the Christmas Bowl. In his lap was an article on Terell Owens, the star receiver for the Dallas Cowboys. Initially recruited by the San Francisco 49'ers, there was a lot of media hype last year when he tried to break his contract with the Eagles, and ended up going from making $49 million in seven years with a $10 million signing bonus to making $25 million in one. But that wasn't the part that interested him. Money was just numbers, and numbers could be manipulated. He was looking at the stats.

Terell was a favourite of his because his abrasive personality got him attention and made people sit up and look at what an artist he was. The only receiver besides Jerry Rice to have five or more seasons with thirteen or more receiving touchdowns in a regular season... one hundred and sixteen total touchdowns, one hundred and fourteen receiving and two rushing. Hiruma breathed out and let the weights fall with a resounding clank—it was bad etiquette and bad for the machine, but no-one else was around anyway because the school was technically closed. He wiped at the back of his neck with a towel and stood to stretch in front of the mirror.

One hundred catches in only fourteen games in 2002 and seven 1000 yard seasons. So what if he did that racy commercial with that middle-aged chick, and made the news with that spitting incident, and the so-called suicide attempt? Football was also part psychology, and T.O. was a monster any quarterback could be proud of. Although if Eyeshield started insulting _Hiruma_ to the press, that kid would be dead before he could even _think_ of an apology.

Speaking of which, what was _with_ that little brat yesterday? That incident in the clubhouse had been... disturbing, to say the least. He supposed he should have been flattered, except it had to make him wonder—where had the shrimp gotten those ideas from? Had he been doing anything especially... provocative, lately? Hiruma placed his left elbow behind his head and used his right to gently pull it up until he felt the stretch in his tricep. He counted to thirty and bent for a drink from his water bottle. When he looked up, he nearly screamed.

"Fucking... manager. What are you doing here?" It was half past midnight, and he was only able to get in because Doburoku was the janitor, and that old souse knew better than to refuse him a set of keys.

"Hiruma-_kun_, you should be sleeping!" Mamori snapped. "Also, exercising by yourself is dangerous. You could hurt yourself and nobody would find you until the morning!"

"The fucking risk is pretty small," Hiruma replied carefully. But there was something weird about Anezaki's face that reminded him of the pipsqueak's last night. _Oh, damn._ Was there something in the water he didn't know about?! What was _with_ everyone lately? "But you know what, I've had a fucking change of heart! I see you're worried and I'll just... go now, and you can go too--"

Mamori caught his jaw in one hand, clamping his mouth shut. "Hush, don't say anything—that would stop you from being who you are!" Hiruma froze, caught speechless now for the second time in a row and not exactly happy with it. He considered backhanding the bitch across the face, but having a manager wandering around with a black eye would certainly raise _questions _and that was a complication that he didn't exactly need to throw into the team dynamic right now, not when people were finally starting to get along. Also, he guessed they were sort of friends or some shit like that, and girls didn't let that kind of stuff go the same way that guys did...

Mamori pressed him up against the mirrors. Hiruma made a choking noise as the stretching bar jabbed into his spine. "You know, I've seen you watching me. I know... you want me. And I guess I came to say... I want you too."

"What?!" Hiruma sputtered. He wished he'd remembered to bring one of his guns. This was really getting-- Mamori kissed him and pressed her C-36 inch tits up against his sweaty undershirt. Hiruma groaned. Sure, she was hot, he wasn't blind or anything, but an uptight girl like this wasn't exactly his type--it would never work out...


	3. Chapter 3

Hiruma rolled over and massaged his privates. He was starting to get pretty goddamn _chafed_ down there. And to make matters worse, he'd called the fucking tongueface to meet him downtown yesterday so they could discuss his latest scheme to get the team to try out a new technique, but instead he'd run into the fucking dread, and they'd ended up having a fist-fight in the middle of a deserted alley outside a shitty American Burger. And then the cops came, and he'd had to run into the kitchen of a crappy Chinese restaurant across the street so he could hide in the illegal brothel upstairs.

(Because, as anyone who watched enough shoot-'em-up flicks could tell you, all run-down Chinese restaurants in Japan have illegal brothels upstairs. It's practically a rule of nature.)

The chick he'd roomed with had been nice enough but she'd had a cold, and he could swear he was coming down with one now, and it was making him feel like _crap._ Hiruma didn't like feeling like crap. Especially when there was a game seven days away. He dug in the sheets for a tissue and blew his nose into the unused part, then wadded it up and aimed it at the wastebasket in the far corner.

The alarm went off, signaling that it was four AM. Hiruma picked up a football out from underneath his pillow and hucked it at the clock, but this time he missed. This pissed him off more than the cold itself. Although he supposed he should get up and fiddle with the thermostat at some point. The corner of the basement that he'd stuck his bed in was pretty chilly, and he did only have an hour or so left before he had to go upstairs and get ready for practice which started officially at six. He was fairly sure that the porker and the mini-porker had already been around for two hours or so, but they knew better than to disturb him.

But apparently, someone else didn't. "Old man," Hiruma croaked weakly. "The hell are you doing here?"

"I heard you got in a fight last night," Musashi closed the door behind him and leveled the quarterback with a serious look. "You know you can't afford to be pulling that crap. Especially now that we've got a real shot at the Christmas Bowl."

"Che." If there was something Hiruma hated, it was having to admit that sometimes things went other than the way he planned. He had gotten this far by more or less relying on the numbers, and when they failed him, it stung. "Look, I'll be up in an hour. Go and... practice with the fatass or something."

Musashi left. But then he came back. With an ice pack. And a bowl of hot soup. "You need to stay in bed and recover," he said seriously. "If you push yourself now, you won't recuperate in time. You know this."

Hiruma felt a prickling sensation starting at the back of his neck, running down to his groin. He felt around for his gun, but it was too late. Musashi had a spoon of miso soup in his mouth, and was pressing the ice pack to his cheek. "Shhh. I'm here now. And I'll never abandon you again."

Hiruma swore around the metal in his mouth, and nearly gagged. He wasn't the old man's... old man, and he didn't need any fucking babying, damnit! But Musashi had exactly ten kilos on him last he checked, not counting the fact that it could be more after all those months of working in construction, and that placed his predicted rate of success in getting out of this situation without hurting himself at around fifteen per cent...

_Oh well,_ the demon thought to himself tiredly. _At least he's got a big cock or whatever. _Third time was a charm, right?

He wished that Musashi would learn to shave, though. That beard was actually kinda prickly, and the skin down there was already feeling pretty fucking sensitive--

In the end, it wasn't that bad. But Hiruma was sure more than ever that overbearing old men weren't his type.


	4. Chapter 4

The game had thankfully gone all right after all, although during half-time, the fucking manager, fucking pipsqueak, _and_ old man had all come after him for a "good luck kiss." Hiruma had fired into the air copiously and made up an inspirational speech on the spot about killing the enemy _dead_ that hopefully detracted from the fact that he and his fucking privates weren't in the mood to be molested in public, thank you very much. And then they'd trampled the opposition, so that was good.

Once the festivities began, Hiruma had slipped away immediately, not hanging around to thank the other team for a good game or kick the Hah Bros in the ass or anything. Maybe it looked bad, but it was all part of the plan... to escape those crazy perverts so he could have a moment to himself for a change! And he knew exactly where he could go. Somewhere quiet and peaceful. Somewhere he was always welcome, and where there would be a warm bed, and most likely copious quantities of food.

Hiruma was sneaky about this. He didn't go back to the clubhouse like he usually did, or to any of his usual haunts, but instead had made the fucking tongueface take him halfway across Honshu without telling him the reason why. _Then_ he'd caught the bus _back_ to central Tokyo, climbed up a cherry tree, strapped his laptop onto his back, and scurried onto the roof of Kurita's dad's temple. Like a ninja, he ran and leapt from the prayer hall to the permanent residence, cut a hole in the fatass' dad's window, and picked the lock to let himself in.

He crept downstairs and helped himself to what was in the fridge. Crap, crap, and more crap... oh, great, celery sticks and carrots. The milk was all fatty, and the _wrong_ kind of fat, so he avoided that. Fruit juice... he could water it down, and then there wouldn't be much sugar content...

When Kurita arrived, he found Hiruma seated on the floor by his bed, watching a gory action film and munching on vegetables. He didn't say anything, but changed into his sleepwear (which barely fit) and offered Hiruma a comforter and a pillow with a giant malformed happyface on it.

The night passed peacefully. He poked around on the laptop, the fatass read his comics like a good and quiet fucking porker, and never asked him what he was doing or bugged him to change the channel. It was heaven.

But then the fatass did something weird. He spoke up.

"Uhm, Hiruma-san?"

"Yes, fucking porker?" _Here it comes,_ Hiruma thought exasperatedly. But then, no. Kurita didn't have those kinds of impulses. He was born without them. It was part of what made the guy special.

...he hoped.

"I've been wondering for a while... why you came to Deimon with me, and made Musashi come too, when you could have gone to Shinryuuji without me. Not that I'm not grateful, and not that I don't think we're doing good, but, uhm... it never really made any sense... I mean... I'm not--"

"Not _what,_ fucking porker. Spit it out."

"I'm not... very smart, or interesting, I mean... I can't get good grades like Mamori, or run fast like Sena, and I'm not... cool, like Musashi..."

"Yeah, well." Hiruma crunched a carrot, and watched some big-chested girl try to blow Sessue Hayakawa's head off, and miss."You've got your qualities."

"Like... uhm... what, exactly?"

Hiruma sighed. He should have figured it would come down to this. The things a man did in order to keep playing football. "Che! Just move over. We'll get this done fast."

"H—hoeeee?! Hiruma-san, your pants! What are you _doing?_"

"I dunno," Hiruma grinned. "Fucking fatass, I guess you're just my type."

(Hormones aren't rational, after all. If you want to dispute it, go look at the numbers.)

END

* * *

_Author's Note: _it could happen... I'm sorry, I'm supposed to be doing a poetry project and this is what came out instead. I've spent _way too much time _on fanfiction dot net (I even read some of the _french_ fics--barely) and I think it shows. Er. If you are reading this and found it had similarities to anything else on here, that's because I admired the fic in question and it influenced me. And I guess I'm just guilty of wanting to write a fic where Hiruma does _everyone_ because well... who said the devil was monogamous?

((::hides::))


End file.
